Rabid Love
by Miggitdog
Summary: Time in the mental ward moves so slowly when you belong there. It gives you lot's of time to think, but then again, when you're crazy, what do thoughts mean? BellaMione M for violence, language and probably smut in the foreseeable future.
1. Similar Mentality

Hm...I've got several plots running around my brain, started writing a few of them, but this one stood out to me first, so here we go. Don't really have a plan for it, but I'd like to see where it's going. Please read and review if you like. Cheers.

* * *

The laughter would have echoed in an ordinary room, but the padded walls in this one prevented it now. Her tangled mop of long frizzy curls fanned around her wildly, just the way she liked it. She'd woken from her fitful sleep laughing. The reason unknown, for her dreams had been forgotten but it didn't really matter.

...

...

...

When the fit of hysterical giggles subsided, she panted trying to catch a train of thought that made sense.

She was lucky, she supposed. After everything she'd done, to get stuck in the solitary ward of St. Mungo's, rather than being stuck back in Azkaban was a stroke of luck, a blessing. The thought of the prison sent a shiver through her. They'd probably gotten rid of the Dementors by now, with Kingsley running the Ministry, and the death of the Dark Lord. But still. She supposed she was lucky to still be among the living, if you could call this living.

This was the part of the Hospital most people never saw. Sub Level 3. It was all she'd seen in…she'd lost track of the time. It didn't matter. This was where they put the people too crazy, too far gone to even have a chance of being cured, the people they didn't want the public to know about.

...

...

...

She finally opened her eyes, not that there was much to see; her pupils were dilated huge, in the low blue light, not that you could really tell, her eyes had darkened to near black, but they'd once been soft brown.

They'd learned in the beginning never to leave her in complete darkness. With the lights out, the blackness surrounding her would seep inside her, changing her. Her magic would flow wild, frenziedly, completely out of control. Her screams would break through all the silencing charms, piercing any ears they could reach, which was, from what the orderlies said, up to even the Visitors Tea Room on the 5th floor.

She felt a wave of mirth at the thought of all the people she'd managed to disturb before they'd realized it only happened when they turned the lights out. So this pale blue flickering was constant. She rolled over onto her stomach, a difficult task with the straight jacket. She cackled her mirth into the padded floor, before abruptly she began to shriek, as anger took over.

The fucking straight jacket.

They'd put it on when they'd discovered she had been clawing deep gashes into her skin wherever she could reach. Most of them, they had easily healed, but some had become grotesquely infected, and took a little more work, particularly the ones on her back.

The reason the restraints pissed her off more than any other, was that she couldn't see or touch her left forearm. The scars that were all she had left of her beloved. She had been able to pass the time between fits of clawing madness and horror and tears and all the other emotions that would periodically thrust themselves upon her, by caressing the soft white remains on her arm, faded with time, but never completely gone.

Now she couldn't even do that. She seethed and the rage was almost enough. She closed her eyes and shoved her face into the floor; darkness, sweet darkness. Nearly.

But no, the lights, they were getting brighter, slowly, but surely. They were coming.

She slumped, as the anger leaked from her. A slow sadness followed in its wake, thoughts turning to _Her_.

Pale skin, so smooth. _Her_ eyes. Oh god, _Her_ eyes. Each and every time she looked into them, they pierced her, shattered every fiber of her being, and made her new once more. The knowledge that she's never feel that again, that raw vulnerability under the gaze of eyes she'd never see again, it sickened her.

...

...

...

She didn't realize the screeching cries were echoing from her lips until they suddenly ceased.

A Silencing Charm.

She opened her bleary tear stained eyes, and twisted, so she was still on her knees, her forehead resting on the padded floor, looking upside-down at the medi-witch who had disturbed her gut-wrenching melancholy.

It was the younger blonde one this time, much preferable to the mousey-brown haired medi-witch. Both of their names were lost to her. Names, like faces and memories always mixed in her mind, jumbled, except where it concerned _Her_.

The blonde medi-witch was mid-thirties or so, sort of pretty with long thick curls, she almost seemed familiar, but that meant nothing.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, and seemed about to say more when she was interrupted.

"Penny dear," That voice came through the doorway, "wait for me." Oh. They must be cleaning her wounds. That always meant both of them. It must be morning then.

Dark eyes watched as the slightly chubby woman, in her late fifties bustled through the doorway cheerily.

The woman waved her wand lightly, casting a body bind hex. As the magic touched her, wrapping around her like warm sticky fingers, she gagged, trying to struggle free. The bubbly woman's magic always felt like a violation, and the worst part was that it was weak. With a wand between her fingers, this woman would easily be taken care of. If only she could loose her magic, just for a moment…

"No screams or cursing today?" the witch seemed surprised.

"Silencing Charm," The blonde replied, "Her screaming was…chilling, when I walked in." She sounded almost sad.

"Oh-ho! Good work Penny dear," the older witch laughed. "Oh! I've forgotten the potion on my desk! Be a dear and go grab it for me?"

Penny nodded, and left the room. The older witch removed the straight jacket with a flick of her wand, "Lets see how those wounds are healing now." Thanks to the body bind, she was still unable to move, even without the straight jacket. An internal struggle commenced, the same one as always.

Free the magic and curse the wretched bitch. It was so close; she could feel it writhing beneath the surface of her skin. Itching to be free. Non-verbal magic and wand-less magic, she could do it. If she could tap into it, she could have the wretched body bind off her in an instant, she could tear this woman's head off. No. That would definitely send her to Azkaban. She could at least subdue the witch long enough to get the chance to move freely for a bit. Yes. That was all she wanted, she knew she belonged here. She was, after all, a danger to herself and others, as they'd decided in the courtroom.

She closed her eyes, and took in a slow breath. Focus. Don't try to unleash it all, losing control would not do. She'd kill the woman by accident. She could feel the last of the wrappings fall from her torso. Some of the scabs came off with it, and she hissed in pleasure at the slight twinge of pain it caused her. She could see some blood on them as well, from the corner of her eye, and was pleased that rolling had managed it.

The witch was humming now, as she looked over the wounds, casting some healing charms here and there. It was the same damn song she always hummed, a happy light tune that would replay itself for hours after the witch had gone. It always did.

There it was, the anger, she needed, but not the blind rage that would lose her control. She was mad about the Silencing charm. She was mad about the woman's magic wrapped around her, and now the whistling again. That was the last straw.

She felt the warm flame of her magic rising within her. She only had a few moments to choose how to use it. Luckily she was still damn fast.

Three things happened simultaneously before the medi-witch could even blink. The Silencing Charm was shattered, the invisible bonds that held the madwoman were torn to shreds, and the poor woman was blasted back against the padded wall. The cackling laughter that filled the room sent a shiver down the witch's spine. Her wand had fallen from her hand.

A quick movement, and long thin fingers curled around it gently. The wand rebuked her; she found it as distasteful as the magic it produced. She almost snapped it in two, but thought better and tossed it into a corner. The medi-witch was disoriented, but would regain her composure quickly. There was little time.

Softly, reverently, fingers caressed scars long healed. First, along her arm, then to her ribs, where fresher wounds waited. With a savage howl, fingernails dug deep, opening the wounds as she feverishly scratched and grated at the soft flesh they found, tearing at every inch she could reach, up her sides onto her back, where the still healing flesh waited. She moaned at the pain and felt arousal course through her, and her thoughts turned once more to _Her_.

The feverish need, she always felt at the touch of smooth skin, whether it was gentle or rough.

She slid her bleeding nails down the side of her face, leaving four gashes down her cheek her other hand was sliding toward her center, desperate to release the quickly building tension. And her moment was shattered.

She found she was wrapped up in the blonde's magic, as Penny had dashed back into the room. It wasn't an unpleasant experience the way the other witch's magic was, but it was still infuriating to be thwarted when she had been so close. Another silencing charm, before she could screech her fury. The blond turned to the other woman.

"Mildred? Are you alright?" The mousey-brown haired woman nodded, and Penny fetched her wand. "What happened?"

"I'm not certain, one moment it was fine, the next she was free and screaming her head off."

Penny sighed, "I should have removed the silencing charm." And at that, she flicked her wand and removed the one she had just cast.

"I'm sorry." She really sounded apologetic.

All she got in response was a hiss.

As Penny gazed at her fresh wounds, and the blood slowly staining the floor, she finally asked, "Oh, Hermione, why must you do this to yourself?"


	2. The Flames Consume Us

So, do I know where this is going? Vaguely, but not really. But I'm enjoying writing it, and seeing where it take me. I hope the read is also enjoyable. Please review if you feel so inclined. :)

* * *

Ha.

HA.

HAHA!

The laughter burst out of her for a moment, before she managed to contain it. Then she spoke, and probably the most reasonable sentence she'd constructed in months, maybe even years, fell from her lips.

"Because it's the only thing that makes me feel alive anymore."

Penny was silent, watching her carefully for a long moment before she said, "I'm sorry, Hermione, I have to heal them."

"Please, can you leave the straight-jacket off this time?" She noticed her voice was ragged from all the screaming. She hadn't spoken intelligible words at a normal volume like this in a long time.

"Of course not!" Mildred huffed. She had regained her composure it seemed. "You'll just scratch yourself up again."

Penny carefully began to trace her wand along the gashes, muttering soft spells of healing. Her magic at least was tolerable, not entirely pleasant but not repugnant.

_She_ used to do this. After viciously tearing through the soft flesh, _She_ would always trace each gash or bruise with her wand lightly, healing them to pale scars, and leaving a trail of soft kisses. Hermione moaned; the sadness was flooding into her again.

She saw from the corner of her eye, Mildred approaching, wand raised to help with the healing.

"No! Don't touch me with your filthy magic!" The harsh sneer contorted her face.

"Here we go again." Mildred grumbled, raising her wand anyway.

The sticky spell, like a sweaty palm reached for her, running the length of one of the gashes in her cheek. She would have vomited if she had eaten anything recently. She only ate when she had no choice in the matter, the reason her ribs were clearly visible.

"Mildred, perhaps you should let me handle the healing?" Penny asked quietly.

The witch huffed, "Fine then. I'll get the potion ready for those infections."

By the time the younger witch had finished healing all the other cuts, and the potion had been poured onto the festering ones, she was exhausted. The witches wrapped her torso again, and were about to restrain her with the jacket once more.

"Wait, just a few minutes to move, please?" Stooping to pleading like this was utterly disgusting to her, but she couldn't stand the thought of the straight jacket, however long she could hold it off, the better.

"I don't think so dearie, you'll just hurt yourself again." Mildred was probably still cross about being tossed across the room. She hadn't been that rough with her. Well, maybe the spell had been harsher than she'd meant, magic was difficult to control without a wand. That was one of the reasons most never tried after they got a wand.

"No, give her a moment Mildred, please." Penny gazed at her, "We can keep an eye on her." With that the blonde witch stepped back and removed the body bind with a flick of her wand.

Immediately, her right hand shot to her left forearm. Tracing down the thin white spider-web scars. Gently caressing them with her soft fingertips. This was _Her _gift. She closed her eyes, forgetting the medi-witches as she traced each crude letter one at a time, worshiping them.

M

Terror had filled her, wracking her entire body. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears her skin felt hot, the weight of the woman grinding her into the floorboards. The cackling mad laughter. She was not afraid to face death, but this…this was something different, ever since she'd run into _Her_, at the ministry, she'd known.

The first cut stung ripped into the virgin flesh of her arm. A high-pitched scream echoed around the handsome room, it was like no sound she had ever produced. It was torn from her very soul she was almost certain. Another line, then another, and another. The screams grew louder, more frenzied, more pained.

U

She was just a girl, before that night. She'd faced down many horrors, she had been brave standing by Harry and Ron through the toughest times she could remember. All of it meant nothing in those moments, ticking by so slowly, as though time had stopped and each burning cut took another lifetime to complete.

D

Something was happening to her. Changing her. Fire was spreading through her veins, with every cut it was growing. Stronger, brighter, hotter. She was burning. Ablaze with pain that made its way through her like molten lava.

B

She couldn't hear the screams anymore, though she was vaguely aware they were still being ripped out of her. Her watery brown eyes had opened, and been caught in the black holes of _Her_ eyes. They sucked her into them. She felt her head getting lighter and lighter and something, something was different.

L

It felt…good. Damn good. Each cut began to feel better than the last, the pain morphed into an ache of pleasure, and she was craving more. The woman was smiling. Before the smile had sent a wave of sickness through her, but no, now she could see. It was beautiful.

O

_Her _lips. They were so close. All she wanted was to touch them. Something was stirring in her core, something no one had ever made her feel. She longed to be touched, longed for the burning; she had never felt this alive.

O

_She _was touching her, snaking her hand slowly across the heated skin. It felt so good. _Her_ lips were so close, hot sweet breath an aphrodisiac aroma.

D

Their lips met briefly brushing against one another as the final cuts were made. Sharp teeth scraped against the soft flesh of her neck, and then _Her _breath slid over to an exposed ear. And _She _whispered, nearly silently, the words that would forever haunt her.

The memory was shattered, as she was ripped from her past, to the present. The concerned medi-witches had decided it was time to restrain her once more. Her dark eyes flashed open as the bonds wrapped around her, and she realized her left hand had slipped down toward her aching center while the right still cherished the scars. Now her hands were firmly behind her again. The memory of the night of her claiming always got her extremely wet, and she wasn't sorry. She wasn't even really certain it was the way it had happened.

She could see the blonde woman, slightly red, avoiding eye contact with her. The other was grumbling. "I told you it was a bad idea." The disgust in her voice was evident.

Eyes narrowed, as a flash of anger returned, but she said quite calmly, "Thank you, Penny." Then turned her head toward the other woman, "Just because you never get off, doesn't mean I shouldn't, you dumb bitch." She had no shame, that had been stripped from her upon entrance here.

The woman spluttered, reddening. Was it from embarrassment or anger? She hadn't meant to ask the question aloud. Did she? Sometimes she couldn't tell.

Penny on the other hand snorted and attempted to hide the amusement.

"I've had it with this!" The woman screeched, turning to Penny, "I'm requesting a transfer, I can't deal with this anymore, good luck with this." And with that she stormed from the room, hopefully never to return.

Months of needling at the woman had paid off. Good riddance. No more fucking humming.

"Oh dear," Penny sighed. "I'll have to got speak to the Healers." She was about to leave, but…

"Say, do I- did I used to know you?" The woman's slight familiarity was starting to drive her crazy, well, crazier than she already was.

"Oh, well, I suppose you did, sort of. I was at Hogwarts." The witch shrugged, "A few years ahead of you, and in Ravenclaw, but you probably saw me around. Penelope Clearwater." With that she closed the door, and the lights went back down to the low, flickering blue.

Huh, the funny coincidences of the world. That girls name had saved her once. That girl's name had sent her to _Her_. That hadn't been the first time they'd met, but still, it seemed like fate. Maybe she'd imagined the fire, maybe she was imagining that it had been that way now. Perhaps she had passed out from the pain of the cuts and in her delirium imagined everything. Maybe she was actually dead now. The blade had probably been laced with something. Was this Hell? When had she gotten here? As soon as the cold blade pierced her skin? Before that maybe. The first time her eyes had fallen into those mysterious black pools. She was drowning in them now. Her life was a ruse. She craved pain, those scratches, how she missed them. The ones she inflicted on herself were never as good as the ones _She _had done. Their burn leaving an acidic burn in her mouth. Iron blood. The sweet juices of pleasure, their sweaty bodies melting together in blissful ecstasy. _Her_ spicy scent, gulped in by the lungful.

The burning in her legs was becoming painful at the torrent of memories, she ached to be touched. Squirming on the padded floor, she searched for some way to get relief to the pulsing between her legs, but as she'd found every time before, she just couldn't manage to find a good angle. Eventually she slumped, defeated.

She closed her eyes, no point in staying conscious if she could help it at this point. Perhaps her dreams would take her to where she desperately needed to get. The words _She _had said that day echoed in her mind.

"You belong to me now, Mudblood."

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

I belong to you, Bellatrix.


	3. Irreconcilable

Here we go. I think I have a solid idea for this now, it's just a matter of pulling it off properly, and connecting the details, with some middle bits I have yet to think of. It's been pretty fun so far.

* * *

The sword is a fake.

The lie she'd managed to gasp before the burning cuts. Lucky. Had it been after she surely would have sobbed the truth. And not just of the sword. Everything. _She_ would have easily gotten her lips to spew the truths of their search. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew this was a good thing. But everything was foggy. Her eyes fell upon the red scratchy cuts on her forearm, the only thing clear to her vision now.

_Mudblood_

The sight sent a strange mix of joy and fear and guilt jolting through her. And sadness too, swept up behind, a gushing flood that chilled her. There were sounds in the room, but she couldn't quite hear them.

Suddenly, she was hoisted to her feet. Fear gripped her, but she realized the soft form pressing into her back was _Her, _instantly calm warmth washed through her. Her legs were weak, knees like jelly. But _Her_ arm was strong, wrapped around her so tight. There was a slight sting at her neck. _Her_ knife. The one that had marked her, that had changed her. Was she better for it? Or doomed by it?

She craved the blade to slice across her throat, to allow all of her blood to seep from her to the cold polished floor. To stain the Malfoy home forever, with her filthy, disgusting, dirty blood.

A soft whisper caught her attention; it seemed to be in her mind and her ear. _"You are mine. Don't forget."_

And suddenly she wanted to live.

The chandelier was falling. It would kill them both. With a surge of new strength, she pushed back against _Her_, sending _Her_ sprawling back, out of harms way. She fell forward. It looked, she was sure, like she was trying to save herself, but they both knew that wasn't the case.

And there was Ron, sweet, foolish, jealous Ron. Ron, who had the emotional range of a teaspoon. He looked panicked now, reaching for her.

Before this night, she'd felt sure he would eventually realized his feelings for her, it was so obvious that he liked her, a lot. She would kiss him and maybe marry him someday. Even though he made an ass out of himself on a regular basis, he made her laugh like no one else could. He allowed her to smile and relax. Even though she'd hated to admit it, she needed him.

But not now. All that had been wiped away forever.

This was a memory, she knew. She knew what should happen next, she'd seen it in her mind a million times.

She would falter between _Her_ and Ron, unsure whether to turn back, or grasp his outstretched hand.

She wouldn't chose.

He would make the decision for her, pulling her to him, wrapping protective arms around her. She would feel a wave of safety that would seem right in the moment, but ultimately insubstantial.

She could choose this time though, it was the past, she could change it in her mind, if not real life.

She threw herself backward across the room, over the shattered crystals, reaching for _Her. _ Her hand closed around a soft leather boot as she fell; and she looked up, into those mystic eyes, and heard her voice in her head.

_"Oh Muddy, how I wish you had made that choice."_ It was a whisper, whether malice was present in it or not was indistinguishable, _"Perhaps things would have turned out differently."_

The room began to melt around them.

Globs of the walls rand down like the wax of a burning candle, and spatters of the ceiling began dripping to the floors. They were the flame, in the middle of it all. The expression on _Her_ face was unreadable.

_"It doesn't matter anymore, I'm here, inside you, no matter what. Forever. Because YOU. BELONG. TO. ME!"_ Cackling mad laughter ricocheted off the walls reverberating inside her head. Was she laughing like this? Was it _Her_ laughter? Or both perhaps. There was no way to know.

She was ripped from her place, loosing her grip on the slick boot. She realized that Dobby, Ron and Harry were still there. Ron's face had the ghastly look of melting as well; as he struggled to drag her away, take back the things that had happened to her perhaps.

She was crying as he held her in his arms, as his body melted all over her, suffocating her. They Disapparated. She turned and looked back at _Her._

_"You can't change what happened, any of it._" A cruel smile, and the silver knife flew through the air, aimed straight at the small elf's heart.

_Her _ aim was true, as always.

Sandy ground, the smell of saltwater permeating her nose, she was numb. Then she was screaming, the cuts on her arm viciously stinging, burning , binding. Harry and Ron's faces had melted and morphed into those of angry demons, and she fell to the sandy ground, which quickly solidified beneath her. The demons that had been her friends sprouted black wings and began to fly, circling above her like hungry vultures. Faster and faster until they were a swirling blur, getting smaller and smaller until they vanished with a sickening pop.

She couldn't move, it was hard to breathe. Gasping for air like a fish out of water, she began to convulse and flop around, a mad howl rushing from her as fast and loud as she could.

The sun above grew brighter and brighter, until everything was white, and she was alone, completely utterly alone. She was everything and nothing. But mostly nothing.

Her eyes snapped open. She was covered in sticky sweat. Everything was bright, raw.

Where the fuck was she?

Restraints bound her, and she began to thrash wildly in panic. She managed to get her feet beneath her and ran straight at the padded wall, hoping it was nothing more than a cloud that she could simply pass through. No such luck. Despite the heavy padding, the force of the impact was enough to jar her, send her stumbling backward.

Terror gripped her as she realized she didn't even know who she was.

Savage tears rolling freely down her face, she howled and howled her throat raw.

She bit her lip, hard, and tasted the metallic reward for her efforts. Rolling to her stomach, she giggled, and smearing the blood across her lips by rubbing them together, kissed the soft floor below her. When she lifted her head, a few loose hairs touched the wet stain, picking up a bit of the blood. She felt a wave of pleasure at that. The stain looked like a lipstick kiss. Much better than the stark white of the room. She looked around and decided it all needed some color. She rolled over, and kissed again, and again, biting her lip whenever it seemed her supply of fluid was low. Covering the floor with bloody kisses.

A sound she couldn't hear, a spell she couldn't stop.

Halfway through a roll and suddenly she couldn't move, she couldn't make a sound. She glared in unadulterated ferocity at the source. Drool began to drip from her mouth, mixing with the blood and staining her chin and front.

A woman with blonde, curly hair. Did she know her? She was accompanied by a stout man with well-trimmed dirty blonde hair, he looked familiar too.

"Oh dear," The woman sighed, "She was so coherent this morning, I had hoped…"

"We've got to try and get through to her. Your description of this mornings events seems to be an indication that she was the clearest minded she's been in months."

"She did recognize me, again." The woman said carefully, "But look at her. Her mind is so fragile, it doesn't take much to snap it back into this."

"True, but," The man paused, "He asked me-. He wants to see her, he hasn't given up hope."

"It's been years, Earnie." Her voice was soft.

"I know, but. We weren't close, but…I respected them, all three of them, if she can be saved, we have to do it."

The man stepped forward, flicking his wand. Suddenly she was sitting upright, in a chair. Her looked at her closely. Trying to read her. She realized she could move her head again, and impulsively did the first thing that came to mind.

She spat.

Blood and drool dripped down his face.

"Hello to you too, Hermione." His voice was cool, calm, as if being spat on was a usual occurrence.

"DON'T CALL ME THAT!" She screeched, shuddering at the name.

"What would you like me to call you?"

Still that damn calm.

She could feel the heat of her anger, roiling just under the surface, "There is nothing left, the fires consume all in their path. Blood is but the price to pay, a hundred thousand years. No more. The lives are lost and the hearts eaten. There is but the one way. Now and forever the night shall accompany the feasting." The words rolled off her tongue, with a strong conviction of their truth.

The man just looked back at the woman. "Did you get that?"

Her eyes were wide. "Earnie, get away from her. The last time she started talking like that-"

The magic was loose. She felt it flowing through her, spidery veins spreading like lightning through her. Her entire being crackled with power. Her blood hummed and spells she didn't know she knew flew from her lips.

Earnie was quite fast, he cast a spell at her, but not before he was blasted into the padded wall behind him.

Her world went dark, as his spell hit her in the chest.

_"You cannot escape me."_ They had arrived safely at Bill and Fleur's cottage, she was trying to sleep and the nightmarishly soft voice flowed freely through her waking mind.

She could feel them. The hot red scars pressed to her exposed stomach. Fleur had tried to heal them, but to no avail. The blade must be cursed. She'd pulled it from the body of elf when they'd landed. Tucked it into her bag after wiping off the blood.

It lay on the bedside table now, glistening dangerously in the soft moonlight.

Her shirt had slid up at some point, and now the heat of the lines traced in her skin was seeping from the cuts into the soft flesh of her midriff, spreading from there, up into her chest, and down, down into her core.

_"Mine."_

She could feel the growing need between her legs, nothing like anything she'd felt before.

_"Only I can help you. You need me. You are mine."_

"No!" She didn't want this.

Her right hand was sliding under her panties. She couldn't stop it. She was wet and warm. As her fingers slid into the soft folds of her own flesh she felt dirty, she was betraying everything she had fought for. As she touched herself, she realized it wasn't enough.

She craved those long bony fingers, with their sharp nails. The soft breasts, the pale smooth skin. The darkness. The madness.

_"Come to me."_

"No- I- I can't." She convulsed, torn between the monumental need, and the loyalty to her friends. It was one thing to lie here, and touch herself to the thought of one of their greatest enemies, but another thing entirely to seek out that enemy.

There was a soft knock at the door.

"'Mione? You okay?"

Ronald.

"I'm fine." She called back, withdrawing her hand.

"Can I come in?"

…

…

"No."

"Oh-" He seemed to falter, "Well, if you uh, need anything, just give a shout."

"Mhmh."

"Goodnight."

…

…

…

"Night." She was certain he was gone now.

"What have I become?" The flow of tears did not cease until long into the early hours of the morning. And as she finally drifted to sleep, her right hand was slowly tracing the scars.


	4. What is Reality Anyway?

Ooh, this one was tough to write the way I wanted it to. I think it finally came out properly though.

* * *

Her eyes snapped opened, a prickling sensation on the back of her neck warned her of something amiss. The sun had yet to rise, but the first few rays of light were beginning to reach her. She reached for the wand she'd left on the side table, but found it had vanished.

"_Thought you could get away from me, Muddy?_" _Her _voice echoed softly from the still dark corner of the room. _She_ stepped forward, the glow of the early morning slowly revealing _Her_ dark features.

Fight or flight failed her as panic spread through her, and she lay ridged, wide eyed, and unable to move.

"_Don't worry, I won't hurt you. _" _Her_ smile turned into a grin, "_Much._"

She opened her mouth to loose a scream, someone had to hear her; the cottage wasn't very large.

"_Oh, none of that now._" A flick of _Her_ wand and the scream died in her throat. "_This is just for us._"

_She _climbed onto the bed, straddling her. "_Do you like my gift?_" Long, slender fingers ran over the soft skin of her forearm, the cuts were still raw. Lips like rose petals gently caressed them, "_You want me._"

Those fingers slid under her nightshirt and up the smooth expanse of her stomach and over the round swells of her breasts. She couldn't think, couldn't respond.

She had never been touched like this.

A shudder ran through her that had nothing to do with fear, and everything to do with her nipples hardening under the gentle caresses. After a moment, _Her_ mouth, hot and wet, carefully replaced one hand. _Her_ now free hand slid down, dipping under the band of her panties.

"_Oh, the little Mudblood really does want me._" _She _giggled lightly, "_Look how wet you are!_"

A wave of embarrassment rushed through her.

"_Tell me Muddy, are you a virgin_?" Her voice was soft, almost kind.

Her cheeks were positively burning now, but she managed to nod her head slightly.

"_Do you want me to take it?_" The question hung in the air around them, as _She_ stared down at her, head slightly tilted.

Did she want this? She struggled to think, it was so hard when she was breathing in that scent. It was certain that her body wanted it. But what of the rest of her? To betray Harry and Ron so ultimately, could she live with that guilt? 'Yes.' Her body screamed at her, reacting to the hand still caressing her breasts, the other hand gently circling her entrance. She was so wet. The burning in the scars was flaring up again.

"Yes." She choked out, and immediately felt a wave of regret. But it was too late to change her mind.

Two fingers rammed into her, ripping the last of her innocence to shreds.

…

…

…

…

…

No.

.

This is a memory.

…

Isn't it?

.

Her mind scrambled for the truth and she was falling, into an abyss, scrambling to grab on to something tangible.

…

..

…

….

…..

…

.

Or did it ever even happen?

..

.

Who was she?

…

….

.

..

What had she become?

…..

What would she have become?

….

..

What became of _Her_?

….

Had she simply been asleep all this time?

….

…...

..

….

.

How long is that?

…

…

She felt cold.

….

…

…

A butterbeer would be nice.

…

…

.

She landed flat on her back, and felt as though a heavy weight was pressing down on her, stifling her. She couldn't see anything. There was nothing to see. She was nothing.

Had she ever been anything?

…

Logic.

Reason.

..

.

Reality.

Imagination.

Insanity.

The treason of her mind

..

.

.

Lonely?

.

..

...

...

.

...

Alone.

…

Her eyes opened slowly, as she adjusted to waking. Something was different. This time she was probably actually awake. Maybe.

The flickering blue light was dimmer than usual. The room seemed smaller. She tried to roll over, but found herself strapped down to something. Her arms were pinned to her sides, and her legs were also strapped down.

Panic overtook momentarily, but faded quickly. The air was filled with a thick, cloying layer of magic. It made everything foggy, her brain struggled to form coherent thoughts.

She glanced around; her eyes were drawn to a dark, blurry, figure in the corner. After a moment, the blur cleared, and _She_ was standing there, in sharp detail.

Leaning against the wall nonchalantly inspecting her fingernails.

"_Finally awake I see."_ _She _giggled.

"No…" It was a quiet moan.

"Oh?" That sly smirk slid across those beautiful, delicate lips. "Still asleep then?"

"No- I don't…" Tears were rolling down her cheeks, "You're not real…"

"_Oh Muddy, I'm very real."_ A long finger traced across _Her_ lips contemplatively.

"But…" The flow of tears blurred her vision again, and she struggled to see, unable to stop crying, "NO! You're not here, you're not real! You're dead…I failed…I…I just want to die so I can be with you again." Sobs wracked her body, and she felt bruises forming under the straps that held her.

Dark eyes, obsidian pools narrowed, _"Were you ever really with me? Or was it all a dream?"_

"I…I don't…"

"_The truth is, that it doesn't even matter, Mudblood._" _Her _voice cut the fog like a razor, "_Because as long as you are here, I'm here. I live in your blood, when you spill it, it sets me free." She _had moved closer, the whisper of her skirts barely making a sound, the clack of her heels muted by the padded floor. "_You need me_."

All she could do was nod shakily.

"_You belong to me_." _Her_ face was close now, the tip of _Her_ nose only a hairs breath away from the skin of her cheek.

"Yes."

"_You have to get out of here, this life is killing you_."

"I can't…I'll hurt someone…again…"

"_Then you will rot_." The words were harsh. "_And I will rot with you, is that what you want?_" One long finger pressed into her cheek, the fingernail broke skin and traced a jagged scratch down it.

"No-"

_She _turned, sharply, abruptly, and laughed, "_Do what you must then, Muddy._" Black smoke roiled about the room and _She _was gone.

Deep breathing….

The oppressive magic felt like molasses pouring over her: heavy, sluggish. It was hard to think.

She was vaguely aware of the light getting slightly brighter, but not much. The door opened silently, and two figures entered.

She recognized Ernie MacMillan. He'd lost most of the baby fat of their youth, but still maintained a slightly hefty figure. She felt like she had seen him recently, but she was not sure.

He turned to the other man and whispered, "I'm just going to check her. The magic should stop her from loosing control, but…" He shrugged.

"Thanks for doing this, Ernie."

"Don't have your hopes too high, mate, she was fairly lucid a few mornings ago, then a few hours later she destroyed her room, and threw me into a wall."

Ernie approached slowly. He frowned looking at her face, and checked that her arms and legs were still tightly bound, and the spells surrounding her were functioning properly.

She struggled to keep her drooping eyelids up.

"How did you cut your cheek?" He asked finally, unable to see how she could have done it.

She tried to smile, but found the corners of her mouth were loose, and ended up with a saggy grin. She tried to speak but found her tongue was thick and fuzzy in her mouth and the words came out distorted, "_Thhhhee_ dith it."

His brow knitted, and he muttered a spell. She felt an odd sensation, as though her tongue was unraveling and after a moment, it felt clear. "Pardon?" He asked politely, but she chose not to respond again.

With a sigh he healed the cut and moved to leave. "I'll be back in a few minutes. If anything goes wrong, protect yourself, however you have to." And he left the two of them alone in the dim room.

He shuffled his feet, unsure of what to do. Finally he stepped forward, to get a good look at her.

"Oh Herm- I mean…" He seemed to be struggling for words. His hair was much tidier than usual, like the last time she'd laid eyes on him, at the trial. And he looked older too, worn, tired. "I'm sorry."

Blaming himself still.

On some level he was probably somewhat right, but really in the end he couldn't have stopped it. Harry and Ron both harbored guilt she was sure, but for very different reasons. Here was one struggling to save her from herself, and the other, well, he was probably disappointed that this was all she had to face, after everything she had done.

A long silence was stretching, and she didn't like it. It was hard to think.

"I want to help you, but I don't know how. It hurts to see you like this." He finally managed; expressing his feelings had never really been a strong point.

"There's…nothing you can do." She managed.

"There must be something." He insisted, "Whatever _She_ did to your mind-"

"It doesn't matter. Hermione Granger is as dead as her parents." She spat, with sudden venom.

He cringed at the mention of her parents, they both knew what had happened to the Grangers, the difference was he cared, and she didn't.

…

"How is he?"

"Fine, I suppose. He hasn't spoken a word to me since-"

"Since you helped me?" She snickered, "Figures, in the end. I'd say something about how fast unbreakable bonds crumble, but I'm the prime example of that." Her laugh turned hysterical, and he took a step back.

Some spell above her activated and forced her laugh back inside, after a moment she regained control of herself.

..

"How long…has it been, then?" She finally found the words in her muddled brain.

"Since?"

"Since Hermione Granger died." The familiar darkness was creeping back into the corners of her mind. The spells, it seemed, were not enough to keep her insanity in check for long.

"That depends…what else happened that day?"

"_She_ died."

"Ah… Ten years, then." His voice was soft.

She closed her eyes. Ten years. Ten. Years.

"Why now?" She glared at him, "Why come to me now?"

"The medi-witch, Penelope. She, she said she hadn't seen so much sanity in your eyes as the other day, in years." It was only a half-truth, she could tell by the way he said it that he was holding something back, but it was too late to do much about finding out what.

"You should go…" Oily blackness was seeping over her vision, her nose filled with the scent of blood, "I can feel my grip…on the moment slipping again." She was shaking.

"Hermione…"

"I might hurt you…if you stay!"

Bright blue flames began to lick the corners of her mind, and heat welled inside her. She felt them burning her organs to crisps, the pain was excruciating.

"GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE HARRY!" Was the last sentence she managed before the flames consumed her.

He stumbled backward, "I'll be back Hermione! I won't abandon you again!"

He said something else she didn't hear, she was screaming too loud.

After an eternity, the fires burnt out.

Accusing blue eyes stared at her from the darkness.

Soon more pairs of eyes opened around her. Thousands of eyeballs glaring daggers at her, accusing her. They turned her blood to ice, the shards shredding through her veins and freezing everything within her. Each organ flew toward her, hitting her, cracking her very being. When the last pair hit her, she shattered into a million and four little tiny crystals. She was caught up by the wind and all that she was scattered.

Floating on the wind, the particles of her being seeped into everything. And she was nothing.

Nothing.


	5. Do What You Have To

Ah, sorry for the slight delay. This one is something a bit different and took me a bit to get right. Changing perspective for a moment because it's hard to move the plot forward with Hermione's nutty POV. Hopefully this will give some insight as to some of the things that have happened, and are happening.

* * *

Harry slammed the door tight behind him. The remains of the screams echoed down the hallway for a moment longer, then silence. He let out a breath, and ran his hand through his hair.

"She lost it again." Ernie had come out of his cramped office across the hall upon hearing the scream. He didn't appear surprised. "Come on, observation room."

They entered the room next to Hermione's and Harry found himself looking into it. Hermione was still strapped down, but she was shaking. Blue sparks skidded across her skin and she was screaming her head off. They couldn't hear her though.

"Wow, this room was cleverly disguised."

"It's got to be." Ernie shrugged. "Did she tell you what you needed to know?"

"No…There wasn't time." Harry sighed.

"She's gotten worse, these episodes have been increasing lately. There may never be time." Ernie told him flatly.

"It's too bad Legilimency isn't an option."

"Don't even think of trying it." Ernie warned sternly, "You could end up here yourself."

"I know, I know." Harry said hastily and then sighed, "You haven't found anything new?"

"All we know is what we've known." Ernie was watching Hermione intently, "There is some kind of dark magic in her blood. When she speaks normally, and seems sane, the levels are relatively low. When this happens," He gestured at her jerking form, "Those levels skyrocket. I'm fairly certain it is imbedded in those scars on her arm. But we can't work out any more about it."

Harry nodded. Nothing new.

They watched Hermione in silence for a few moments.

"Harry…You've got to understand. Even if you can find out how that _bitch_ did this to her, and somehow manage to cure her…whatever sanity is left in there, I don't think it's the Hermione we used to know."

"I can't just leave her like this."

"Even if you can cure her, she'll just end up in Azkaban. At least here, no one will hurt her, except maybe herself."

"Ron's been pushing to get her upped to a Class 7." Harry said darkly, "And that medi-witch that quit the other day is backing him up. She'll get shoved into Azkaban anyway. And she'll still be crazy. Or worse…But, if we can get her sane again, maybe they'll see that none of it was her fault."

Ernie shrugged. Harry knew Ernie didn't think it would do any good, but hope was all they could do. "Here." He held out a small green notebook. "I'm not really supposed to share these, but you're trying to help her, and as such, maybe this can help you."

"What is it?" Harry took the notebook.

"My notes on her, some of the things she says and does. Why don't you head home, I'll owl you if she-…when….she improves enough to speak again."

"Thank you." Harry nodded, clutching the notebook to his chest, and followed Ernie out of the room. They had almost reached the elevator when an ear splitting screech tore through them.

"Ah shite!" Ernie clapped his hands over his ears. "Go on Harry, I've got to see to this." He ran back down the hallway. Harry paused only moment, then followed. Ernie had run into Hermione's room. Harry slipped back into the observation room. He watched, wide eyed as Hermione had ripped through the straps holding her arms, and was tearing at her own flesh with her fingernails. Her legs were still in place, but the damage she was doing to herself was terrifying.

Harry was rooted to the spot, seeing the true insanity that had broken inside his best friend.

Her eyes were dark, no longer the soft brown orbs he'd once taken comfort in, but dark pools that sent chills down his spine. She was staring but not seeing anything. With her hair hanging so wildly about her face, she reminded him of Bellatrix, right down to the mad laughter reverberating down the halls.

She was bellowing nonsense, but he caught a few phrases like 'the fire consumes all in its path and leaves not but ash' and 'the blood spilled is life renewed'. He didn't know what they meant, but they stuck in his mind.

Finally, several stunners managed to knock her unconscious, and Ernie and Penny began weaving the web of spells to hold back the crazy once again. It was really all they could do. Harry slipped out.

As he left the hospital, he tried to clear his mind of what he'd seen. It had reminded him all too clearly of _that_ day.

* * *

Harry clung tightly to the Invisiblilty cloak wrapped tightly around him. Spells crisscrossed through the air, it would have been pretty if they weren't so deadly.

He could see Ginny, Luna, and Hermione fighting Bellatrix Lestrange, and McGonagall, Slughorn and Kingsley were taking on Voldemort. He turned to protect his friends first, and was struck momentarily dumb. Hermione had knocked aside a curse Ginny had sent at the dark witch. It missed and hit the wall. Ginny and Luna gaped in shock, and even Hermione seemed surprised she had done it.

Bellatrix simply laughed. She sent a hex straight at Ginny, and Harry knocked it to the side with a quick spell. No one knew where it had come from.

"Not my daughter, _you_ _Bitch_!" Molly had run up and quickly started a fierce duel with Bellatrix. Harry's eyes slipped to Luna, Ginny and Hermione. Luna and Ginny had pulled Hermione aside, and were giving her a concerned look. Hermione…she was clutching her left forearm, a look he didn't recognize on her face.

His eyes fell back to Molly and Bellatrix. A spell hit the laughing witch just above the heart, and she toppled, much the same way Sirius had two years before, that same look of surprise, before her body exploded.

Voldemort howled his displeasure, but even that was drowned out by the sound Hermione made.

It was a gut-wrenching soul-tearing scream that echoed around the entire hall. Everyone who had stopped to watch as Molly killed Bellatrix remained transfixed as the young witch collapsed to the floor, gripping her head.

Molly ran forward, trying to help.

"No!" Hermione slashed Bellatrix's own wand through the air, and Molly barely dodged the angry red curse. "The Order's supposed to be the good guys!" Two more spells barely missed. "The good guys aren't supposed to kill people!"

"Hermione, stop!" Ron shouted, running forward.

An orange bolt cut through the air, catching his temple and knocking him sideways across the floor.

"No Ronald." Hermione hissed coldly, "She didn't stop, so why should I?"

Everyone was stunned, no could move. Hermione's anger seemed to have cast a spell across the whole hall, stopping them from interfering.

"Hermione, please stop!" Molly tried to reason with her, unwilling to send a curse back at the girl she knew her son loved.

Hermione responded with another curse, one that Molly only just managed to deflect.

Harry could see her eyes had darkened, a strange void filling them.

"But Hermione," Molly cried softly as her defenses began to weaken, "Why? Why?"

"I LOVED HER!" There were tears running down her cheeks, as spell after spell broke around Mrs. Weasley, "And you killed her."

Harry finally managed to move his legs from the iron grip. He ran forward, raising his wand, no longer caring about the cloak. He was too late.

Fiendfyre burst from Hermione's wand and engulfed Molly. Hermione watched calmly as Molly Weasley was burnt to ash by the burning otter, and then easily put out the fire with a flick of her wand.

It was utterly terrifying to see his best friend like this, and then to use Fiendfyre so calmly, when it had nearly killed them earlier. Harry's blood chilled.

Voldemort laughed, breaking the silence that filled the hall, "Ah, Granger!" There was glee in his voice, "Have you decided to join me then? Your beloved Bellatrix loved me, so it would seem you should help her cause by helping mine. Join me!"

Hermione eyed him coldly, "No." She turned to Harry, "Shouldn't you finish what you started?" Her voice was icy daggers in his heart.

* * *

Harry shook his head, trying to clear his mind of the memories, only to start thinking about his obsession.

He had to find the dagger.

Years, he's spent searching, trying to find out what had caused the changes in his friend. He kept coming back to the night in Malfoy Manner. Every single lead he traced led him back there. Back to that night, back to that blade.

The knife Bellatrix had used to carve into her arm.

The knife she had thrown at Dobby.

It was the key.

It had to be.

He remembered how he'd pulled it from the limp elf's chest and stood, intent on hurling it into the tumultuous sea. Her hand had caught his wrist and she had whispered to him not to do it. It could be useful to them. To break into _Her_ vault.

Even then her tone changed as she mentioned Bellatrix, though not by name. How had he not known in that moment?

But he hadn't, tears streaming down his face, his hand went limp and the knife fell to the sand.

Hermione had picked it up and wiped the blood and sand from it on her jeans.

He should have known the look she'd given it was not of disgust, but some twisted pleasure.

* * *

Harry pulled his mind back to the present, and realized it had gotten dark as he'd wandered the city, and he knew he should head home. With a sigh he Dispparated.

The house was dark, except for one light emanating from the kitchen. Harry hung his cloak and found Ginny nursing a cup of tea at the kitchen table.

"How'd it go?" Her eyes were dull, as was her tone.

He shrugged, "Not well, really. The kids asleep?"

"They're at George and Angies."

"Oh." He put the notebook on the table and reached to pour himself a cup of tea.

"It's cold by now." Ginny said, looking at the clock.

"I'm sorry, I got lost in thought." He heated the tea with a flick of his wand.

"It's fine. What've you got?"

"Ernie's notes. Maybe she said something that'll give me a clue where to look next."

"For the knife." Her tone was flat, and he tried to prepare himself for the same old fight.

"Of course."

"Harry, Ron came by today." She said quietly.

"Oh." No wonder she'd sent the kids to their aunt and uncle. "What'd he say?"

"He left this for you." She handed him a small wooden box. "He said you owe him at least to look at it."

Harry opened the box, and found a vial with a memory inside. "Do you know what it is?"

"No. He wouldn't say." Her lips were tight, "Harry, I-" She stopped midsentence with a sigh. "This isn't working."

Harry tried to feel sad, but the emotion just wasn't there anymore. It had dried up.

"She's not Hermione anymore." Ginny finally said.

That hurt. Ginny had always supported him in his search to cure his friend. But he knew, and she did too, that it had taken precedence over everything in his life.

"I have to try. I know the chances are slim. But I have to try. It's my fucking fault all of this happened."

"Would you stop blaming yourself Harry?" Ginny's voice rose, "It's always about you."

"Damnit!" Harry felt his own anger boil over. "I have to do this. It's not about me. It's about her."

"Do you love her?"

Harry faltered for a moment, caught off guard at the accusation. "Is that what you think?" His voice was quiet now.

"I don't know what to think anymore."

"Ginny. I love you, I do. Hermione was my best friend. Better than Ron. I have to help her."

"I know," She sighed, "I understand. Just like you should understand that I need to leave."

"Leave?"

"Until this is over. Whether you find what you're looking for or give up, or she's dead. I can't be with you while finding that damn dagger is the first thing on your mind."

Harry felt like stone. He stood quietly, rigid. "The kids?"

"I won't stop you from seeing them, but they're coming with me."

A hard lump filled his throat.

"We'll be with George and Angie for a few weeks while I look for somewhere to settle." Ginny stood up, looking him in the eyes.

"No, keep the house." He finally managed. "I'll be back when I finish this." Tears were welling in his eyes, "Everything will be okay, like it should be."

She kissed him lightly on the lips. "I love you Harry. I'll give you a few days to gather what you need before we come back."

And she walked out of the kitchen, and maybe out of his life.


	6. She is Dead, Remember That

Another Harry chapter. Will probably be back to Hermione next chapter, but really whocansay? Cheers.

* * *

Harry awoke with a start.

A piece of parchment was plastered to the side of his face when he'd fallen at the desk. He peeled it off blearily, and stumbled out of his makeshift office. It was really the smaller room of the two-bedroom flat he was renting for the time being.

The clock in the hall told him it was 3:17AM.

As he stepped into the bathroom he noted the ink had transferred onto his face, and with a sigh he washed it off. Dark circles under his eyes were a testament to the lack of sleep he'd been getting in the week since Ginny had left him.

He returned to the office. Rolls of parchment and reference books littered his desk, and he began to sort through them. He eventually dug Ernie's notebook out of the pile.

Similar phrases had kept cropping up, and he'd written them on a separate parchment. Most of it was gibberish. It had been slow going. This sort of research had always been Hermione's job. It was hard work; he'd taken her for granted so many times in their youth. Now it was his job. He'd been planning to become an Auror, but after Hermione lost her mind, he had dedicated himself to this. Besides, Ron was working in the Auror office, and Harry couldn't even stand in the same room as him.

He attempted to tidy his desk a bit before he once more tried and failed to sleep alone, and in doing so, he nearly knocked a small box to the floor. He caught it at the edge and opened it. It was the memory Ron had left with Ginny.

"I owe him to at least look at it…" Harry muttered the words Ginny had spoken when she'd given it to him. He hadn't yet, he was afraid of what he'd see. He set the vial on the desk, and stared down at it. It seemed so harmless, but he was sure it was anything but.

Ron's fevered hatred, born when his mother died, was absolutely terrifying. Most everyone else had realized something wasn't right with Hermione, and knew that the real her would never, never do anything like that. Ron though. He'd wanted her dead, or kissed by the Dementors.

His curiosity overcame him, and grabbing the vial, Harry moved across the room where he had stacks and stacks of boxes.

Most of them held research. Several were filled with page after page about Bellatrix herself. Newspaper clippings, prison psych reports, even her detailed OWL and NEWT reports. There were boxes of Black history, information on dark enchanted objects, Voldemort himself, and everything on Hermione he could get his hands on.

The few boxes that didn't hold research or books had magical objects inside them. Her found the box he wanted, and moved it to the newly cleared desk, with a flick of his wand.

He opened it, and removed the small stone basin from the packing peanuts. He moved the box to the floor and gently lowered his Pensive to the desk.

It was much smaller than Dumbledore's, not intended for storing memories at all, just for reviewing them. He'd found it tucked in the corner of his parent's vault years before.

With a sigh he poured the bottle's contents into it, watching the silvery liquid swirl about for a moment. Finally, he steeled himself and plunged into the memory.

…

Harry recognized Shell Cottage as he landed gently in the room. It was dark but he could make out Ron was standing at the window. He recognized his own sleeping form on the floor, a blanket draped over himself, his arm under his head for a pillow. This was a few nights after their escape from Malfoy Mannor. Hermione had been acting strangely, and Ron had been concerned. He stepped forward, looking out the window too.

Hermione was dashing up the slope, quickly and quietly. Ron glanced down at the sleeping Harry, then back out the window. He seemed to be deciding what to do.

"Oh hell," He muttered quietly, as he turned to slip on his shoes. He slipped out of the room, Harry following, as he ran after Hermione.

Ron, it seemed, was trying to be stealthy as he followed Hermione's path up the sandy ridge, but he was failing rather miserably. As he reached the top, he ducked down. Hermione was standing just inside the line of trees. She seemed to be talking to someone, but from Ron's location, it was unclear to whom. Harry strode forward, knowing he could find out. Ron hadn't moved.

Hermione had slipped a bit further into the trees. No doubt Ron could no longer see her, but he probably wouldn't chance her spotting him to come much closer.

Harry walked into the shadows of the trees, and stopped. The sight before him sent his heart pounding.

Bellatrix herself was pressing Hermione up against a tree. The dark witch's hand had slid up Hermione's leg to her-

Harry felt his face turning red, embarrassed at seeing such an intimate encounter, even in memory form.

Hermione was wimpering softly, her fingernails raking across Bellatrix's back. The dark witch moaned in response, and pressed her harder into the tree, letting the bark scratch her up as well.

_Bellatrix_ was whispering something to Hermione who was at this point panting. As much as he didn't want to move closer, Harry did, trying to hear.

"-_mine. You understand me? You are mine."_

"Yes. Yes…I'm…yours." Hermione managed.

Bellatrix suddenly leaned forward, kissing Hermione passionately. The reason was made clear a moment later as Hermione moaned loudly. The sound of her orgasm was muffled by the kiss. Harry was sure Ron wouldn't have heard it.

As soon as she was quiet, Bellatrix stepped back, and Hermione slid to the ground, there was a soft trail of blood down the tree, where the bark had ripped open her skin.

"_Good_ _Muddy_." Bellatrix began to lick her fingers as she turned to walk away. Hermione began to weep at the guilt of what she'd just done. "_See you soon!_" Bellatrix Disapparated with a mad cackle and a crack.

The sound of hurried footsteps, trampling the undergrowth reached the small clearing, and a moment later, Ron appeared, wand out, huffing.

"Hermione, you okay? I thought I heard someone else." He was looking around for danger. Finally his eyes fell on her, "What happened to your back?"

She looked up at him, her eyes distant, "I'm sorry…" she mumbled, "The nightmares…please promise you won't tell Harry…" Ron was accepting her half formed lies as the memory faded.

…

Harry found himself in a second memory a moment later.

He recognized the dark damp passage he found himself in quickly, the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. Ron and Hermione were standing a few feet in front of him, at the large door. Ron was attempting some garish hissing/gurgling noises.

After a few minutes, the snakes moved.

"I did it!" He was triumphant.

"Good job Ron!" Hermione grinned, "Lets go."

Hermione charged down the passage, Ron in tow. Harry followed quickly. Despite it being a memory, he didn't like being back here, the memories from second year still hung darkly in his mind.

"There it is!" Ron shouted as they walked into the main chamber.

"Clearly." Hermione muttered. The giant skeletal remains were very obvious.

Ron dashed forward to grab a fang. "Careful Ron!"

He took his sweater off and used it to grip a sharp fang without cutting himself. He yanked, but the fang didn't budge.

"Do you know a spell to-" Ron's question was cut off as Hermione flicked the wand in her hand and all of the fangs tumbled from the carcass. Ron nearly lost his balance. "Whoa. Sweet!" He grinned, "Let's kill the cup then!"

Harry watched as they set Hufflepuff's cup on the stone floor.

"You do it Hermione." Ron held the fang out to her.

"M-me?"

"Sure, you haven't had the pleasure of doin' one in yet."

Harry's eyes were locked on Hermione as she shakily too the fang from Ron.

"Stand back Ron." Hermione placed the tip in the center of the cup and lifter her arm, ready to deliver the fatal blow.

A strange wind whipped around her, and Hermione struggled to keep her aim true. Just as she was about to strike, she stopped, nearly dropping the fang. The wind roared around her, circling her, picking up the water from the channels around the room, until it was like Hermione was in the center of a hurricane, obscured from sight.

"Hermione!" Harry could only barely hear Ron's scream as the wind forced him backward.

Luckily for Harry, the wind didn't have an effect him. He strode forward to see what was happening to Hermione.

He could see her, slumped to her knees, sobbing. A figure of water and wind stood before her. Harry recognized Tom Riddle, a bit older than the diary version, but still handsome.

''I have seen into your soul, Hermione Granger. I have seen that it is tainted with the darkness." He was hissing, "You want the darkness inside you, you have come to crave it."

"N-no!"

"All your life you've been an under-appreciated little swot. Your friends don't really care about you, only _She_ does. _She _appreciates your talent, despite your tainted blood. You don't want to kill me, for _She_ does not want you to kill me! Join us and have the power and respect you deserve!"

Hermione was trembling. "No, I do want to kill you!"

She managed to grip the fang tightly and raise it up, "When you're dead, she'll be all mine!" And with a wild howl, she plunged the fang into the Cup. The Horcrux screamed as the water crashed down. Hermione stood up, looking down at the broken cup, a strange look on her face.

Ron was rushing forward, "You did it Hermione!" He was grinning. He grabbed her, pulling her close to him, "I knew you could do it!" And then he did something she did not expect. He kissed her.

Her eyes widened in shock, and she pushed him away. They both stood, a few feet apart, staring at each other, horror in both their expressions.

Ron turned bright red, and he flustered, "I-I'm sorry Hermione. I didn't mean. I thought…"

"I know what you thought." She whispered almost angrily, "But you waited too long."

"I-There's someone else then?" His tone darkened with rage, "Who!"

"It doesn't matter, Ron." She turned to scoop up the cup and tossed it into her beaded bag.

"What do you mean it doesn't matter?" He was shouting now.

"Because we don't have time for this! We've got to get these fangs up to Harry, so we can find the diadem and kill it. Stop worrying about us and start thinking about the Horcruxes!"

Ron's face was nearly purple, but he managed to calm himself a bit. "Just, just tell me…" he breathed deeply, "Is it my fault?" There were tears in his eyes, "Is it because I didn't-"

"No. This would have happened anyway, I've changed with this war...I'm not yours." Her eyes were distant; "Can we pretend this didn't happen?"

Ron wiped his eyes, even as his nose ran, "Ye-yeah, sure. We just killed a Horcrux, and we've got a few more to get! But, when this is all over…can we talk about it?"

"Sure Ron."

As they walked away, arms loaded with fangs, Harry remembered how they'd seemed distracted when they'd met up with him.

This memory too faded.

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This time, he was on a muggle street. A house was burning just ahead of him. There were people running all directions, screaming. Wizards were Apparating all around him, moving toward the fiery building, wands raised.

He swallowed hard, he remembered this night. It was after Voldemort's defeat, Hermione had fled the castle, and shown up here a few days later.

A blood-curdling scream echoed from the house. He looked away, unable to stomach it.

Ron was standing a few feet away, mouth agape with horror at the sight.

The brutal murder of her own parents had been nightmarish and bloody. When they'd captured her, she'd been laughing, blood dripping down her face, a maniacal grin locked in place.

The image was burned into his mind.

They'd tossed her into Azkaban for the duration of her trial, and the insanity had only gotten worse.

Harry pulled himself from this memory; he didn't need to see it again.

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Harry found himself in an apartment he didn't recognize.

Ron was sitting at a desk in front of him, looking out the window. This was very recent, Ron's once wild hair was cropped short, a neatly trimmed mustache graced hit upper lip. He was looking out an open window. With a sigh he raised his wand to his temple and removed a memory. He placed it in the vial in front of him. Then another. He sat back for a moment, then spoke.

"Harry." He closed his eyes, "Mate it's been so long. And it's my fault we haven't spoken, and I'm sorry. I miss you. And I miss her, too." A tear was leaking down his cheek, he brushed it off quickly. "Look I…I don't think I'm brave enough to face you yet. So I'll just say it now." He laughed, and turned away from his desk and the window, looking just where Harry now stood.

"Harry. Listen to me. Hermione is dead. She has been, all this time. What's left is Bellatrix's bitter, twisted revenge. I know you don't like to hear it. Hope is all we have right?" Ron was looking out the window again. "But it's killing you. Gin, she doesn't know what to do anymore, and I know you're neglecting her and your kids for this stupid false hope of saving Hermione. Mate, she murdered my Mum! You were there! And her parents! I don't understand how you can't see that she's become a monster." He drew another memory from his mind a moment later.

"And she doesn't care, she doesn't! She is not Hermione anymore. She deserves the Dementor's Kiss." Ron was silent for a long moment. "No, maybe she doesn't." His voice had grown soft, tired. "But she does deserve more than that cozy little room at St. Mungo's. She's dangerous, and she's hurting people. That's why I'm trying to get her locked up in Azkaban again, it will be safer for us all. She is not Hermione, as much as you're trying to kid yourself that she is."

Harry watched as Ron stood up.

"Look, you were my best mate all through school. I know we don't agree on this, but…If you feel up to it, owl me." Ron raised his wand to his temple to remove this memory, and Harry returned to the present.

…

He stood before the Pensive for a few moments, before gathering each memory into a separate vial, and labeling them carefully. He opened one of his many boxes, and found racks filled with similar vials, all of the memories he'd collected. He carefully placed them in empty slots and closed the box. It was nearly 6AM as he finally slipped into his bed.


	7. A Mental Mindfuck

Meant to update this a few days ago, but I got a bit stuck on part of it. Should be good to go. At this point I imagine 3 or 4 more chapters maybe, we'll see though. Anyway, back to Hermione!

* * *

Hermione was in a strange jungle.

Trees the size of skyscrapers towered over everything. The ground was covered in strange flora, there were ropey vines and odd-looking ferns with razor sharp leaves and strange vibrant flowering plants she had never seen before. A soft sponge-like material covered the ground, leaving indentations wherever she stepped.

Mysterious fauna moved through her peripheral vision. Every time she turned to look, the creatures had vanished into the shadows and leaves.

Everything was silence; there wasn't even a breeze.

Hermione was naked, but she didn't care, the air was hot, and moist. It pressed down on her as if trying to suffocate her. She stumbled through the undergrowth.

Searching.

For what? She didn't know.

As she climbed over a fallen log, she slipped, and a cascade of bark came loose. Thousands of insects came pouring out of the gash she had created, and she stumbled back as quickly as possible.

They were hideous.

Foul orange and black, they moved like giant earwigs, wiggling. Large menacing pincers seemed to be dripping venom. They surged toward her, beady red eyes almost glowing. A screechy-clicking noise filled the air, and she scrambled to her feet, utterly terrified. These things were ten times worse than Hagrid's Blast-Ended Skrewts had been.

She ran.

Dodging ferns and rocks and trees as quickly as she could, her head felt like it would split open.

She ran through an icy stream, and turned to see if that had stopped the bugs. It had. For now.

They were climbing on top of each other, piling higher and higher, and she realized with horror that they were building a bridge out of themselves. She turned again, and resumed her frantic escape. She kept looking over her shoulder, to see if the creatures were catching up. Which was why she didn't see the vine she tripped over.

She fell forward, but instead of being stopped by the squishy ground, she kept falling forward, down a chasm.

The vine that had tripped her up seemed to be her savior. It had looped around her ankle and caught her, just below the holes surface.

Dangling by an ankle in a hole in the ground while a horde of angry insects is chasing you is not the ideal situation, she mused. She had suddenly regained her wits, and was coolly assessing her situation and options.

Everything below her was darkness; she didn't know what horrors could be lurking in the pit. She did know what horrors were lurking above her, and would have to hurry if she intended to escape.

She let out a heavy breath, as she struggled to pull her self up to grab the vine that was holding her, without loosing it's hold on her foot. It was difficult. When she finally managed to grasp it, she nearly let go in shock.

_She_ was standing above her, nude as the day _She_ was born, a small white bunny clasped in _Her_ arms.

"_Need a hand there Muddy_?" There was a horrible glint in _Her_ eye.

"N-no, it's fine, I'm al-almost…up." Hermione managed.

_She_ grinned, "_Oh no, I insist_." And with that, the rabbit was flung into the pit. Hermione realized belatedly, that _She_ was holding her knife as well, and before she could think of what to say, the vine had been violently slashed. "_Follow the white rabbit, as they say!_"

She was falling. Down, down, down into the abyss. The air was cool, dryer down here, so for that she was thankful. For all she knew it went on forever. She did her best to twist in the air, to see below her; after all, the world above was quickly shrinking to nothing.

Her hand caught something in the darkness, and she realized the pit was lined with some kind of tar-like substance, it stuck to her hands, and however hard she tried to peal it off, it simply clung more.

There was a small white speck below her, she initially thought was the rabbit, but as she continued to fall, she realized it was getting larger and brighter.

She realized it was an opening to the tunnel just before she tumbled through it.

She was still falling, but slower. The black tar seemed to sizzle as it vanished in the light. It didn't hurt.

As she looked around the white, fluffy space, she recognized it. It simultaneously sent a wave of comfort and fear through her.

This was the part of her mind she had been trapped in for, going off what the orderlies had said when she'd finally woken up, nearly four years.

It was too late to escape; the hole she had fallen through was merely a rapidly shrinking speck. She would have to hope another four years of her life wouldn't pass before she regained consciousness again.

Then again, maybe that wouldn't be so bad. This wasn't like the nightmares she spent countless hours enduring.

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Now she remembered, after a while, boring as fuck.

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"_Oh, is the ickle Muddy bore_d?"

The question cut through the eerie silence.

"Thanks a lot, for pushing me down here." Hermione did her best to twist around and see the source, the first time she'd been stuck in this place she'd been completely alone.

"_You're welcome, I suppose Muddy. Thanks for showing me the entrance this time._" _She _flashed a devilish grin.

_She_ was stunning, as always, though Hermione's breath still hitched at the sight. This was not the post-Azkaban, sunken-faced woman Hermione had seen in life. Oh no, as always, since _Her_ death, Hermione was seeing a gorgeous, young, frankly smokin' hot woman, and she didn't mind at all. Of course, the fact that _She _was as naked as Hermione didn't hurt either. Thinking back on those times they did come across each other, it was hard to remember exactly how _She_ had looked; Hermione could only really remember this version of _Her_.

"_Last time you were trapped here, you hadn't completely let me in yet, so I couldn't find my way in._" _She_ purred.

Hermione shuddered, and it wasn't from the haunting words or a chill, the air was actually quite pleasant.

"_Aroused are we? My, my._" _She _giggled, and twisted into a seductive pose. "_I'm not really surprised, I have a way of getting under people's skin._"

Hermione swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry, and she didn't know how to respond.

_She _was moving closer, but still out of reach, and Hermione couldn't help her eyes trailing over the swells of her breasts, her hardening nipples.

"_Seeing you this lustful is turning me on too._" _She _sounded surprised, "_Who would've thought a filthy little mudblood would have gotten under my skin too."  
_She ran her long nails lightly up Hermione's back, sending shivers reverberating through her, "_Hm…something soft today, I think_." And with that, _She_ leaned forward and their lips met.

Hermione felt her body react instantly, melting into _Her_.

Soft hands roamed across smooth curved skin, soft moans echoed around them. This was even better than the rough encounters that happened much more frequently. It was rare to see this, soft, vulnerable side of _Her_.

"_You know,_" _She_ said after a while, breaking the contact of their lips, "_You are the only one, who ever survived my blade._" _Her _fingers trailed over the white scars, "_I never intended you to live._" _She_ slipped her long fingers into Hermione's wet folds. "_I'm so glad you did_…"

Hermione couldn't find words, and a low, guttural groan escaped, as _She_ began to slowly finger-fuck her.

Hermione's head felt scrambled, this felt so good. She couldn't think; she didn't need to, this was wonderful. She touched _Her_ in return; wanting to make sure the soft pleasure was mutual. The pleasure built up slowly; there was no need to rush here, where time was a foreign concept. It could have been moments, or hours, or years, whatever. They brought each other to the edge of pleasure, and together, they toppled over it with howls that combined, and cut through the air like a song.

They lay, entwined for a long time, breathing heavily. Hermione's eyes closed and she began to drift off, before she could find rest though, _She _spoke.

"_Now that your lust is sated, you can begin your plan of escape._"

"I'm not so sure I want to leave anymore. It's not so boring with you here. And…and I'm probably better off staying here. I'm not sane anymore…" Hermione finally said.

"_You're no crazier than I am._"

Hermione couldn't help it, she snorted.

"_Is that funny?_" This was the sharp, dangerous voice, and Hermione made a mental note to be careful here.

"Honestly, yes. But not just for the reason you probably think."

"_Do enlighten me then._"

"Well, I think it's funny, because it's absolutely the truth." Hermione giggled a little, "We are exactly the same amount of crazy, because you are just part of my subconscious."

"_Oh, am I?" She_ sounded amused now. "_You may be right._" There was a long pause, "_What if I told you something you couldn't possibly know? Ask me something you know you don't know."_

Hermione mulled the question over for a while, before asking, "Did you love Him?"

_She _stiffened slightly, H_er_ voice sharp, "_Who, Rod_?"

"No, that was clearly a case of convenience, you know what I'm asking you, who I'm referring to…"

_Her _eyes slipped off into the distance,and finally she whispered, "_I did, a long time ago. I… I would have done anything for Him." Her_ words tumbled out, now a torrent _She_ could not seem to stifle, as emotion overcame _Her_, _"I DID do anything for Him. I just wanted Him to love me back. He was supposed to rule the world, with me at His side forever. He just needed to see that He loved me! I just needed Him to realize it!_" Tears were streaming down _Her_ cheeks now, "_And then He went and got fucking defeated by a fucking baby, and I went to Azkaban for Him! 14 fucking years! And when He came back, I realized He didn't love me at all…my entire life was a sham…_" _She _broke down in sobs then, and Hermione held her, utterly bewildered.

"_I'm glad He's dead._"

"It's too bad you're dead too." Hermione whispered.

"_Still think I'm part of your subconscious then?_"

"I don't think you can prove me wrong," Hermione replied slowly, "As my subconscious could be making these things up. We are at an impasse."

"_I see; you really are purely logical. Hm…There really is nothing I could say for you to know if I'm your subconscious or not._"

"Nothing I can think of."

"_Then you have to break out of here._"

"Wha-?"

"_That's how we'll settle this impasse._"

"How's that?"

"_Well, I suppose you have to do something that isn't logical first._"

"Would you stop being so cryptic and just tell me?"

"_Hey, I'm supposedly you're subconscious that's being cryptic here._" She grinned before continuing. "Okay, _I'm going to tell you something, and you have to believe it is the truth, without proof._"

"Oh?" Hermione was curious.

"_I'm not dead._"

There was utter silence.


	8. Is This Just Fantasy?

Well this is a long time coming. Sorry about that. A little bit of writers block, mixed with major distraction in other fandoms I follow and with my power cord fraying, this took a while. The next one shouldn't take as long, as I've got most of it written already. As far as after that...well, I'm winging it, but I've got sort of a plan, kind of. Anyway, here it is.

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It started with one nervous snort; then a torrent of hysterical laughter surrounded them. _She _simply watched as Hermione rolled away, unable to contain it.

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And laughed.

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Until sound ceased, and she was shaking silently, gasping for air, still convulsing with laughter.

"_Are you quite finished_?"

She continued to silently convulse for a few more seconds, before she was gasping for air to refill her lungs.

A light slap across her face pulled her attention back to her surroundings.

"_Is that really the worst I can do here?_" _Her_ face was sullen. "_How annoying._"

"Wait, you can't hurt me?" Hermione finally sat up, distracted, still breathing heavily.

"_Do you even know what this place is?_" _She _was glaring skeptically, "_I though you were supposed to be smart._"

"Where are we then?"

_She _continued staring, though it became more contemplative than skeptical. "_Well. Obviously we're in the purest part of your soul."_

Her puzzled expression caused an exasperated sigh from _Her, _"_You've noticed the ooze, haven't you?_"

"Yes." She said, remembering the black gunk that had stuck to her hand as she'd flailed in the tunnel to this place.

"_Do you see it in here?_"

"No, it…" She searched for the right word, "vanished, dissolved, evaporated…when I fell in here."

_She _looked smug now. "_Of course it did. This is part of you; that is too pure for it to exist. That stuff, that liquid darkness, it's what makes nightmares, torment, evil. It's what really brings out the crazy, granted, you're still nuts in here, but I'm sure you've noticed it's toned down quite a bit. You're probably more sound of mind right now than all your other instances of clarity combined. By the time I got out of Azkaban, that darkness was all I was, every fiber of my being. I never had the luxury of retreating to a space like this…_"

"But, some part of you must be something more than that."

"_Oh?_"

"Or you would have vanished trying to get in here too." It was logical.

"_Unless you are correct in guessing that I'm just part of your mind. Then again…my disillusionment toward the end…and the unique pull you had on me might have been enough to give me a little bit of good._"

"Hm." Hermione lost herself for a few moments, contemplating the implications.

"_Is it smaller?_" _She_ suddenly shrieked, "_Has this place gotten smaller since the last time you found yourself stuck here?_"

"I-" She looked around.

It was hard to say, the space was pure white, with what looked like wisps of cloud floating about. There wasn't really anything to see, to indicate the size of the place. It looked like it probably went on forever.

"_Don't look._" _She _snapped, "_Feel._"

She let her eyes, and tried to understand her surroundings. She frowned, "It does." Her eyes flicked open, "It does feel less…substantial than I remember."

"_Then there really isn't much time at all._" _Her_ brow furrowed. "_You can't hide here forever, much as I'm sure you'd like to, with me here and everything. No, no time to fuck forever in your mind._"

A blush burned across her cheeks for a moment at those words.

_She _continued on, without seeming to notice the embarrassment, "_It will shrink, until it is gone, and then there will never be hope for you._"

"So…I have to escape from my mind?"

"_Yes, and the damned hospital too_!" _She_ shrieked, "_You've got one chance to save yourself, and me!_"

"How?"

_Her _teeth ground together in _Her_ fury; "_Obviously I can't bloody tell you outright, can I? All of the information is here, you just have to fucking put it together!_"

"What?" She was rather bewildered.

"_I have told you. Everything. You need._" _Her _voice came out in a low hiss. "_If you aren't smart enough to put it together yourself, you are not worth saving._"

"Why now though? Why not ten fucking years ago?"

"_It took me that long to get you here, away from the maddening darkness, with me._" _Her _voice was uncommonly patient.

Closing her eyes, she finally whispered, "I…I watched you die."

It hurt to think about but the memories of that night flooded back into her mind, unbidden.

* * *

The fighting was everywhere. She cast a jinx at a Death Eater she didn't recognize, but found herself yanked into a small curtain covered alcove. Long fingers with dirty nails wrapped around her throat as her eyes met the mesmerizing black. Her shock and horror instantly shifted to hunger, need. Lips and tongues crashed together in a frenzy. It was a blur.

Hands raking trails of blood down her back. Teeth grazing her throat. Wicked fingers sliding down the front of her jeans. Her own hands tangled in a mess of dark, wild curls. Her own teeth sinking into soft flesh, as she screamed for her love. Fingers thrusting inside her, filling her. Bruises blossoming across creamy flesh. Her mouth finding purchase on nipples bursting from a corset pulled too tight. Sudden emptiness, confusion. Sticky fingers shoved into her own mouth. The taste of herself mixed with blood, the second best taste in the world. Moaning. Sucking, licking them clean. Sinking down to her knees. Lifting layers and layers of skirt. The nectar of life itself. Lapping. Rubbing, thrusting.

Sweet paradise.

Fingers twisted into her hair, encouraging her closer. Suddenly yanking her away, up. Those lips again. Like the pillows of her deathbed. Two sets of fingers, finding two centers at once. Thrusting in tandem. Moaning, kissing, biting.

Fucking.

When they came, the Earth shattered.

It shattered into billions of miniscule pieces, glowing like stars all around them for just a moment, before fading to darkness. They clung to each other, panting, sobbing. The sound of fighting just beyond the thin curtain finally returning.

"_You are mine."_ A quiet harsh whisper. A quick garment adjustment.

"Forever._" _Breathless honesty.

Then _She_ was gone.

She sat there, she didn't know how long. Before carefully fixing her jeans, masking some of the injuries, the ones that would have given away how she'd gotten them. Finally rejoining the battle, only to have it cease as Voldemort's voice carried through the castle.

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It was awful, watching Harry's body come back, cradled in Hagrid's arms. But _She_ looked so happy.

Hermione was conflicted.

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It was just a game. The spells tossed back and forth. True, Ginny and Luna thought it was real, they were really trying, it was almost pathetic really. A hot spell grazed her bicep, the cut it left sending a jolt of pleasure through her. Black eyes fixed on her, knowing the feeling it had given her. Then Ginny about to take advantage of _Her _momentary distraction; she acted on instinct, knocking the hex into the wall. Ginny just stared at her.

Sweet laughter.

Then Molly-

Sound ceased.

The world became black and white stop-motion.

The duel. The spell that struck that spot she had left purple with a bite only hours before, on that soft left breast. White-hot searing pain jolting through her as she watched _Her_ begin to topple, then-

* * *

Hermione tore herself from the memory.

"_Did you though?_"

"What?"

"_You just said you watched me die. But, did you really though?_"

Hermione watched _Her_ intently for a long moment. Then she began replaying the event again and again in her mind.

"I watched you explode."

"_But did you watch me die?_" _She_ snarled, losing patience.

"I-" Hermione stopped. There really was no way for her to know for sure either way. "I don't know. I thought I did." A dead silence followed, as her mind ran over their conversation. "I watched your body die..."

Of course, the answer was there, staring her in the face.

Before she managed in a quiet whisper that almost went unheard, "Horcrux?"

"_Finally."_

"No fucking way." Disbelief filled Hermione's voice. It made sense; it fit the scenario. But there was no way. Her mind, she reasoned had figured out a possible situation and was trying to sell it to her as fact. "How? The dagger? Since you cut me with it, and I didn't die? No this…"

"_Yes. I never intended you to live. No one ever has before, most bleed out, unable to heal the wounds_. _But cutting into you...it felt different._"

"Is that why..." She blushed again, "I mean..."

"_I've never been interested in fucking a woman before you._" The words were blunt, "_I'm sure it has to do with our...bond. You are not a Horcrux, but something of me is here inside you._"

She closed her eyes, thinking, "You were supposed to rule by his side, forever..." She recalled _Her_ words from before. "Did he tell you about them or...?"

"_Of course not_,_ when I found out he intended to live forever, I searched and searched for a way to join him. He didn't know. I managed it just before Potter took him down the first time._"

"No, this is won't work, I cannot verify anything, for all I know this is the explanation my subconscious has been working on all these years, it's not based in fact."

_She_ simply shrugged. "_So you've got to escape and get that dagger to prove me wrong then, don't you?_"

"How am I supposed to do that then? And if I do, as soon as I leave this place…that madness…"

"_With a task as crazy as you are taking on, it will only help. As for how, I may have a few suggestions. But first we have to get you to wake up…_"


End file.
